


We're All Gonna Die

by your_bro_joe



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, mostly, about my woman Sole Survivor and her relationship with MacCready, as she progresses through the main storyline. She is not named in this, so feel free to imagine her as anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Nate would’ve been fine out here,” she says as she rolls onto her stomach, stark naked and smoking, letting her cigarette hang off the edge of the mattress. MacCready lies on his back next to her, arms folded behind his head, not looking at her, but still listening. “He really _was_ a soldier.” There’s no bite in her words. “The first time I saw him in Power Armor, he looked like he was born to wear it. All rugged, square jaw, strong nose. The perfect all-American man.” She takes another drag and lets the smoke out in a sigh. “He would’ve had Shaun back by now. Started raising him to survive in a world like this.” She laughs bitterly, and Mac leans over, putting a hand on her back. She doesn’t react.

He wants to speak, but she so rarely opens up about herself, he’s afraid of deterring her. He’s given her his life story, but he’s only been given glimpses into hers. His fingers stroke her shoulder, and she turns her head to look at him, resting her cheek on her arm.

“You know what I was before the bombs went off? A fucking _lawyer_. What good does that do me out here? Sure, I’ve talked us out of a few tight spots, but _talk_. Talk doesn’t prepare you for this. For the hunger, and the loneliness, and the fighting, and the killing.” Her eyes shine for a moment, and she turns away from him again. “Nate knew how to do that. How to deal with it. He was never afraid of anything. He’d have Shaun back by now. If only I’d been the one holding him, when those Institute fucks came, they’d’ve shot _me_ , and left Nate, and they’d both be okay–”

“Hey, hey,” Mac interjects, pulling her to him, turning her to face him. “No. You can’t do that. You can’t predict what would’ve happened. Cuz that’s over. You think I haven’t replayed Lucy’s death over and over in my head? Thinking, ‘if only we’d done this, if only I’d done that. If only I’d died there with her.’” Her lips are pursed tight, holding back a torrent of tears that she knows would only be self-pitying. He smooths back her hair. “You’re the one who told me it was worth it to save Duncan. And it was. And maybe things haven’t been ideal since then, but they’re better. At least you know your son is alive. We can work with that.”

She shuts her eyes tight, swallowing thickly. “You don’t. You don’t have to. You gave me my money back. You can go.” She looks up at him. “Go back to Duncan. You have your son. Don’t neglect him for mine.”

He shakes his head. “No way am I leaving you now. Not after everything we’ve been through. It’s not about the caps; not those _particular_ caps, anyway. But I know. I know what it’s like, to lose your spouse, and to be without your kid, not knowing if he’s safe. I’ve been to hell and back with you, and I’ll go there again, and _again_ , if it means you get to see your son again.”

She smiles despite herself, and a hiccup comes out when the tears finally start to flow. He wraps her in his arms, and she holds on tight, pressing her whole body against him. For a moment, the whole world is the two of them, on this tiny bed, in this tiny shack in Sanctuary.

“I’m here of my own free will,” he speaks into her ear, “because I understand.” He kisses her. “And because I love you.”

She turns her head to kiss him back, and tries to ignore the taste and dampness of her tears.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s standing there again, beside him, while he tends to the crops. Every couple days she does this, now: stands there, looks at him, but doesn’t say a word. And damned if it isn’t grating on him.

She hasn’t been the same since she made it into the Institute, and she hasn’t taken him traveling since that weird Synth recall mission, with that creepy guy dressed in black. A Courser, he knows, but still. Creepy guy. After that, she went out on her own for a while, and that scared the hell out of him. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, but still, it’s easy to get overrun in the Commonwealth, especially by ferals. He spent the nights she didn’t come back sleeping fitfully, seeing Lucy in his dreams, torn to shreds, but with her face.

After a while, she came back and stayed for a few days. He tried to talk to her; little remarks to get her attention, getting more and more desperate without outright pleading with her to talk to him. His heart hurt when she left again, but this time with Preston.

Well, maybe he felt a little better that she wasn’t alone, and Preston was a damn good shot. And she was helping the Minutemen, which was good, and it made sense that she’d choose Preston over him for something like that.

Then she came back without him, and left again with Codsworth.

Codsworth? Fucking _Codsworth_?!

Piper talked to him all night, after that, trying to distract him. It didn’t work that well, but it did keep him from slumping down into a Jet-induced stupor with Mama Murphy, so he was thankful to her.

Another week after that, she came back with Codsworth _and_ Preston, and took Preston back out again. The next day,Preston came back alone. Mac flipped, demanding to know where she was, and Preston was patient, explaining that she’d found a new traveling partner: a curious little robot that had lived its whole life in a vault. She wanted to show it the world.

That comforted him somewhat. She’d been so distant for weeks; it was good she was taking a positive interest in something like that again.

Or at least he thought so, until she came back with a beautiful woman.

The woman turned out to be the robot from the vault, and that messed with his head until Curie explained how her consciousness had been downloaded into a Synth body. The whole Synth thing still made him kind of uneasy, but Curie was different; sweet and naively curious. She was pretty cute, truth be told, which made it harder when he saw her and Curie talking, laughing, smiling. He hadn’t seen her smile in over a month, and it hurt him to think about; self-doubt crept in. Was it something he’d done? Something he said? Was he too cynical, too jaded? Why wouldn’t she just _talk_ to him, dammit?!

Instead, she stands nearby and watches him tend the crops, and he wonders what’s going on inside her head; what that longing, wistful expression means. He can’t even look at her anymore, because it hurts to be ignored, to be alone. He hates it as much as he loves her.

“Hey,” she says, and he starts, shocked to hear her voice, barely believing it’s directed at him. He gets up, dusts himself off, and looks at her.

“Yeah, what is it?” He sounds too eager, but he hides his flinch.

She studies him for a moment. “Actually, never mind,” she says quietly, and he can practically hear his heart breaking.

“Well, that makes me feel wanted. Thanks,” he bites out before he can stop himself. He doesn’t wait for a reply; just walks away, heading to another part of the farm. He refuses to look back.

God, it hurts.

Before she’d gone to the Institute, knowing that the plan might not work, might end with her shredded into pieces across the Commonwealth or dead by the Institute’s hands, she’d asked him what marriage meant now. She’d asked about Lucy, and his feelings, and his son. Then she’d taken him to a little chapel just south of the Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, and they’d had their own little ceremony, just them and a few of their friends. She gave him her husband’s ring, as he’d given her his wife’s toy soldier. He hadn’t been that happy since his previous wedding day, or the birth of his son. After, they’d spoken about going back to get Duncan; maybe bring him to the Commonwealth, maybe stay in D.C. for a while. It didn’t matter. She’d have her son, and he’d have his, and they’d be a family again. 

They’d both lost parts of their families, but they were more than happy to rebuild.

Instead, she’d shut him out. She told him to come with her, at first, to Libertalia, and he watched as she talked to the Courser with little emotion, barely a ghost of her feisty, sarcastic self. When they’d encountered the “rogue Synth”, she spoke the code immediately, let the Synths go, then took him straight back to Sanctuary.

They haven’t spoken since.

He feels useless, and unwanted, and so goddamn lonely.

When he finally climbs the stairs of the shack where his empty bed is, he can’t get into it. Piper and Preston are already asleep in the beds on either side, looking so peaceful it makes him envious. He stands there and stares at the mattress, thinking, until he hears footsteps on the stairs. He glances over to see her. Then he pointedly looks away.

“Hey,” she whispers, and he can’t deny her.

“What do you want?” he asks, and it sounds more bitter than he means, but he can’t help it, not anymore.

“I wanna talk,” she says, “downstairs.” She leaves without a word. His body feels like it’s on auto-pilot when he follows her.

When he gets to the landing, she’s already sunk into an armchair. He sits on the couch beside it without a word. He wants to be mad, and he is, but he’s also so eager, so desperate, so raw and open. He lets her speak.

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking at her hands, “I’m so sorry, Mac.”

He can’t speak.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

A long silence stretches between them. He’s so tired.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything at all.

“I’m sorry I left you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

“I just couldn’t.”

Her voice cracks, and he dares to turn in her direction, but he’s still surprised to see tears sliding down her face, connecting to snot dripping from her nose. She’s kept her voice surprisingly steady for someone who’s crying so hard.

“I didn’t–I didn’t want to–I didn’t mean to treat you so badly, and if you hate me now, I understand. I just needed to be alone. I’ve never been alone like this before, even after I escaped, I knew Shaun, my baby, was out there. Now not even that’s true. I had you, though, and I took you and threw you away. I’m so, so sorry.”

The words hit him smack in the chest.

“Shaun–”

“He’s not dead,” she tacks on, knowing what he’ll ask. “He’s not dead, but he’s not. He’s not someone I know anymore.”

Her breaths are deep, if uneven. “I never… I never got to know him. He was my son, of course, of course I loved him, of course it was unconditional. But that baby, even that little boy I saw, they’re gone. He’s grown. He’s a stranger.”

She sighs, a bone-deep exhalation, and he sees something leave her, bodily. “He’s the head of the Institute.”

Things start to click into place for him. She wanted to help, to be loyal to her son, support him. But what he stood for was everything she stood against. In all the time she had been gone, had she been back to see him? Had she tried to convert him, to change him? Would he listen?

He reaches out and holds her hand tightly. She closes her eyes, tears dripping steadily from her chin. Her head tilts back, and wet trails carve a glistening path down her neck. Another deep sigh, and a swallow.

“I can’t.” A long, long pause. “I don’t know what to do.” She looks at him, dark eyes shining behind her glasses. “I’ve never felt so alone.”

“You’re not,” he cuts in quickly, big hands slipping up her arms to her shoulders. “Not with me here. We made a commitment, and I don’t take that lightly. You needed space, I could tell. And it hurt, but I respected that.” She squeezes her eyes shut and turns her head, but he puts his hands on her face, drawing her back. “I can’t imagine what this feels like for you, but I know you need someone now. I’ll be that someone, like I promised.” He traces her lips with his thumb. “Let me be your shoulder.”

A stuttering laugh bubbles out of her, and she breaks down, surrendering to the grief. He puts a hand on the back of her neck, and she slides easily from the chair into his lap, burying her face in his collar, and purging herself of all the pain she’s felt since 2077. He just holds tight, and lets her.


End file.
